


sometimes i dream (the sounds all stay the same)

by VeriLee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Letters through time, Love Letters, Minor Angst, No actual time travel, Open Ending, Portals, Supernatural Elements, ben solo lived in the 1800s, both the the book and the cure song, but a hopeful and optimistic ending, falling in love across time, if you can see where that's headed, in rey's time period, kylo ren exists too, living in different times, loose inspiration from charlotte sometimes, not a traditional happy ending, not quite major character death but you see my prediciment, rey lives in modern day, secret portals, somber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeriLee/pseuds/VeriLee
Summary: Dear Benjamin,I’m not in the house at the same time that you are. That is the simplest way to explain it. I wish I could tell you something more concrete, but you might think I’m crazy if I tried. A part of me doubts my OWN sanity. But this much is true: we are ships passing in the night.Sorry if that all sounds like nonsense. Maybe later I can give you a more satisfying answer.---When Rey took a job helping to clean and sort out the old Skywalker House, the aspiring historian hoped to uncover forgotten gems and hidden treasures, frozen memories from a time gone by.She didn't expect to find a desk with a magic portal to another time, to exchange letters with a man who had lived and died more than hundred years before her. And she certainly didn't expect to fall in love with a memory that could never be hers to hold. But perhaps, along with a Skywalker heir, she can learn what to hold onto from the past, and what to let go of.





	sometimes i dream (the sounds all stay the same)

**Author's Note:**

> _So many different names_  
_Sometimes I'm dreaming (the sounds all stay the same)_  
_Sometimes I'm dreaming_  
_She hopes to open shadowed eyes on a different world_  
"Charlotte Sometimes" - The Cure

* * *

_ To whom it may concern,_

_I would ask that you immediately return the compass you have removed, as well as my pen. I have not yet alerted the masters of the house to this theft, and if my belongings are returned forthwith I will see to it that this transgression does not lead to termination of your employment in this household._

_ \- B.J.S _ _ . _

* * *

Dust danced in the narrow strip of sunlight fighting to brighten the dim room cluttered with boxes, furniture, trash... and a very confused young woman holding the curious missive in her hands. 

Rey Johnson had worked for Luke Organa for over a week now, sorting and cleaning his home and ostensibly obtaining new artifacts and relics to be donated to the Chandrila Regional History Museum. It was a job that Amilyn Holdo had arranged, Rey’s professor and advisor from the History Department at Chandrila University, and it had sounded much more exciting than it turned out to be. Rey had envisioned herself an urban archeologist, uncovering one priceless gem after another.

In actual practice, it was morning after morning spent choking on dust kicked up from displaced boxes and papers. The family line had occupied the house for many years, and the type of things that usually ended up in estate sales and landfills had instead been passed from generation to generation.

Luke would sometimes hover over her, commenting on the various objects and telling her what to toss and what to keep. Even as an aspiring historian, she had to wrinkle her nose at some of the stuff that had been shoved away in various cartons and closets rather than thrown away years before.

Other days, he would go fishing at a small pond on the property, leaving her alone in the cool darkness of the old house. Rey had spent a lot of time alone growing up so it was a feeling she was used to, even if the memory of a dozen generations had left a weight on the house that _ did _feel like something different.

Skywalker House now looked nothing like the old paintings and photographs on display at the Chandrila Local History Museum. Since she’d moved to town, Rey had spent many an afternoon at the museum, marveling over the two and a half centuries of memory carefully and artfully arranged; it had been part of what solidified her decision to major in history. The museum was housed in yet another former Skywalker family residence—albeit a considerably better preserved one, expanded to cover the general history of the entire region. The Skywalkers had been among some of the first settlers in the area, and they had all but founded the town of Chandrila in the late 1700s.

Skywalker House had once been a beautiful mansion situated on a hill overlooking the town below. Eventually, the town had grown and, as the building gradually fell into neglect, new housing developments and strip malls gradually encroached on its boundaries.

The picturesque clusters of trees immortalized in the grand painting downtown were now a wild, untamed forest, and only the narrow dirt driveway leading to the house had been kept in any sort of order. The buffalo grass and wildflowers flanking it had been left to grow to waist height, swaying lazily beneath the trees that loomed overhead, filtering the day’s sun through the verdant canopy. The roar of cars and the squeals of children on the surrounding estates were muted by distance, and the worn old house seemed to be wrapped in an almost eerie cocoon of solitude.

The inside was just as rundown, and the attic and basement rooms were cluttered with everything from early letters from Anakin Skywalker to his old friend in England, Ben Kenobi (_ interesting _ ), to brittle plastic tourist-trap refrigerator magnets purchased on family vacations in the 1970s ( _ not so interesting _).

The overriding tedium of Rey’s task had shifted, however, when she'd found _ the desk, _ wedged among an array of antique furniture, juxtaposed alongside towers of boxes and books that created an unusual maze through the formerly beautiful and richly outfitted room.

The desk itself, though sturdy and well-built, hadn’t appeared particularly stunning at first, though its age and condition alone made it a candidate for the museum or sale. But the rattle she’d heard when she bumped into it quickly altered that misconception.

The sound had been almost alarmingly loud and sharp in the sleepy quiet of the late afternoon. The top drawer had creaked as she’d opened it, tight from the swelling and warping over the years, as the sound of something metallic rolling on wood echoed through the stillness of the room.

Perplexed, Rey had tugged the drawer all the way open— she was _ sure _ she had cleared everything out of the desk, having opened each drawer to wipe every corner and crevice clean before dragging it to a spot against the wall, beneath a high window that allowed the softly glowing sunlight to illuminate its surface without being directly in the sun’s path.

As Rey had examined the seemingly empty drawer, she’d noticed something she hadn’t before, and might have chastised herself for her lack of attention if she hadn’t been so excited and intrigued by the realization.

When taking the time to really pay attention, it became clear that something about the drawer was _ off _, though it was minor enough to be overlooked at first glance: its interior wasn’t deep enough to fill the void from which it had been extracted, being about 2 or 3 inches too shallow in comparison to the exterior.

Giddiness took over as Rey began to prod the drawer bottom with gentle fingers. She’d read about pieces like this—wardrobes, secretaries, cabinets with hidden drawers and secret cupboards, like something from an old mystery novel. Her fingertips trailed over a tiny dip, something she’d originally assumed to be a natural pocket, perhaps an indentation left behind from carving out a knot in the wood by the carpenter who built the desk. By this point, however, Rey had been looking at the cavity more studiously.

Tucking the end of a letter opener into the crevice for leverage, she tugged gently upwards.

The wood panel had stuck at first, like a window that hadn’t been opened in years, but after a moment it gave way and lifted upward with a creak as hidden hinges on the underside groaned with disuse. Rey’s breath had caught in her throat, unsure if she was more excited by the discovery of the secret compartment itself or being the first to lay eyes on what was hidden beneath in who knew how many years?

Rey had been shaking as she pulled on a fresh pair of clean gloves before gingerly, reverently, reaching out to touch the heirlooms. There hadn’t been much, but the mere existence of something _ new _, undiscovered was intriguing enough on its own.

A pen and inkwell, folded bits of paper, a small leather covered notebook. A compass; that, or the loose pen rolling around, must have been the source of the sound she’d heard.

What was perhaps most surprising was how new and clean it all looked compared to the faded, worn objects she’d been pulling from boxes. Even the pieces of paper seemed brighter and less aged than expected, which she supposed was the result of being hidden from sunlight and dust, or any of the elements that would have sped up deterioration.

Rey had carefully lifted the compass, turning it over in her hands as she examined it excitedly. The cover was engraved with the Skywalker crest and, in curling letters directly underneath, the initials ‘_ B.J.S.’ _ were etched across the smooth metal _ . _ Snapping open the pocket-watch style lid, she’d inspected the dial moving beneath a pristine glass cover, and had lost herself in its smooth motion and elegant simplicity.

It was the light creak of the bedroom door that had jolted Rey out of her reverie. She’d snapped the hidden compartment shut as though she’d been caught in an act of wrongdoing, pushing the drawer closed before turning around. A part of her had wanted to hold onto the little secret by herself, just for a little while; she couldn't be sure exactly why.

Luke had leaned into the room, squinting as he tried to locate her in the dim light.

“You’re still here, then?” he’d asked by way of greeting.

“Yeah, still here.” Rey had glanced at the fading light outside, reminded of her long journey home and the two buses she had to catch. “I should probably be going, though.”

Reluctantly laying the compass on the desktop, she’d made her way out of the house and stepped firmly back into the light and noise of the 21st century. However, thoughts of the intriguing desk and its secret compartment had filled her mind throughout the entirety of what had felt like a long and restless weekend.

She’d eagerly to returned on Monday and headed straight for the desk, but hadn’t expected the chaotic mess that greeted her when she raised the secret lid: the papers were in disarray, crumpled; the inkwell tipped over, the small leather-covered book, gone.

And, most curiously of all, was the neatly folded piece of paper gently laid on top of the disorder and its loopy, flowing script, which had undoubtedly been meant for her eyes.

Rey’s heart raced. She was _sure _she hadn’t been so careless or reckless! She had been gentle and cautious, she _knew it, _and instinctively looked over her shoulder as though she’d find the culprit looming over her.

But Rey was sure no one else would have gone into the room. Aside from surveying her progress from the doorway, Luke had told her he hadn’t been in these rooms in years—the thick carpet of dust alone could attest to the truth of the statement.

She skimmed the words—_ the accusation— _once more. The compass and pen, which this ’B.J.S.’ insisted she had stolen, were resting on the desktop where she’d left them on Friday, out in the open for anyone to see. Rey turned the paper over and over again in her hands, as if it would suddenly change before her eyes, to reveal something she could make actually sense of. 

An idea crossed her mind that perhaps it _ was _ some sort of joke Luke was playing. Maybe this desk and its secrets were well known by the family, and he had come up here to play a little prank as soon as he realized she’d figured it out? It didn’t sound like him, but it wasn’t exactly as though she knew him well. And what other explanation could there be? 

Deciding to play along, Rey leaned over the desk, her cataloging pencil in hand, and began to script a response at the bottom of the page.

_ Stars, Rey hoped she wasn’t crossing some sort of line here. _

* * *

_Dear B.J.S._

_ I appreciate your concern regarding the compass. Rest assured it will be well taken care of and be given a place of honor on display in the Chandrila Museum._

_ Cheers!_

_ Rey _

*

_ “Rey” -_

_ I have attempted to remain civil and understanding. However, you must realize I am growing increasingly distressed and appalled by your continued withholding of my possessions, as well as the newfound interest you have developed in taunting me about your theft. Skywalker House is my rightful home, and that compass is my rightful property and you WILL return it posthaste. There are only so many servants in the employ of a house this size so please be assured that I will discover your identity, despite your usage of a fictitious name. Now, put a stop to this tomfoolery and we shall leave it in the past. My compass and pen, if you will._

_ \- B.J.S. _

* * *

Rey’s mind wandered to the pen and compass as she lunched in quiet contemplation. The items had sat on the desktop for nearly a week as she’d continued to receive (and reply to) the unusual notes, though her mysterious letter-writer seemed to be searching for them without avail.

Her own explorations, however, proved a little more fruitful when she found a christening record in the Skywalker family Bible for a Benjamin Jacen Solo, the first son of Jaina Skywalker and Alden Solo—the first Skywalker heir to bear the Solo name.

But, if anything, this only confused Rey more—she had no idea who was impersonating him. Both the letters themselves, and her daily interactions with Luke only drew her further and further away from the idea that it was his way of playing a joke.

But _ someone _ had to be impersonating him, _ right?_

Rey had never been one for ghost stories but, in the halls of Skywalker House, she found she could understand how one might start believing in them. Especially on the third floor, where a compact maze of narrow halls, sloping walls and uneven ceilings crowded on every side, where boxes and bins lined the floor and cast unnatural shadows and the memory of past generations seemed to linger.

“Luke, are there any stories about…?” Rey began, shaking her head as she thought better of voicing what was on the tip of her tongue. “Never mind.”

“Go on, what is it?” Luke encouraged, looking up from his bowl of vanilla yogurt, which had been rendered an unappealing green color by the kale powder he’d stirred in. Rey brought a sack lunch with her every day; apart from saving money, the remote location of the house made going out for lunch a lengthy endeavor. Sometimes Luke ate his own meals at the same time as her, though conversation was rare.

Rey took a deep breath, picking at the crust of her chicken salad sandwich.

“Is this house haunted?” she finally blurted, not meeting his eyes.

Luke didn't laugh as she’d feared. “This place is no more haunted than any other home, old or new,” he said sagely. “Places, objects… they carry the memory of days gone by, never really gone.”

Rey shrugged, grateful at least that she wasn't being mocked, but it wasn't quite what she was looking for. “But you’ve never seen _ ghosts _ or anything?”

Luke focused his eyes on Rey's. “I think some people want old homes and buildings to be haunted, maybe hoping for proof that this life isn't the end.” He pushed back from the table, the chair screeching against the worn wooden floor. “I grew up here. Trust me, there are no ghosts in this house.”

Rey nodded and, trying to play it off, agreed, “I didn't think so. Just curious.”

But something in her remained unconvinced. The letters, the compass, it didn't add up. She wasn't ready to dismiss the idea of something otherworldly.

Heading back upstairs, an idea, something to test, began to hatch in her mind. She flipped the light switch, bathing the room in the startling glow of incandescent light.

Rey hastened to the desk, opening the drawer and confirming that everything looked the same as it had in the morning. As she had before, Rey flipped the paper over and began her reply, wondering if she had lost her grip on reality by writing letters to ghosts.

She folded the paper in half, placing it with the pen in the hidden compartment. The compass remained on the desktop.

* * *

_ Dear B.J.S._

_ I apologize if my previous notes offended you. I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I intended to be playful, not rude. And Rey is my name, honestly. But I haven’t been in the house at the same time as you, and that's why your searches for me have turned up empty._

_ I can’t return your compass. Not yet. I will eventually, if you'll wait a little longer. As a sign of good faith, I'll give you your pen right now. In return, will you tell me a little more about yourself?_

_ Sincerely,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Rey_,

_ I am hesitant to engage further in your game. It is unsettling to be confronted with the fact that a person, one who remains unknown to the staff, has not only entered the house, but also my private room, and has discovered a location I previously believed to be safe._

_ However, I do appreciate the return of at least one of my personal effects. Against my better judgment, I will refrain from making this theft known to either my mother or father—for the present moment. You must realize that I am granting you a tremendous favor in providing you the opportunity to fulfill your promise and return my compass, however my patience is not without its limits. Know that I will be keeping a keener eye on the household, and if this matter is not resolved, I will take action!_

_ I am confused by your request for knowledge about myself. You are the one who has entered my home and caused unrest! My family is one of some status in the region and surely, as you have sought us out, you must know who I am._

_ Yet you ask this even as you are unwilling to reveal yourself to me. You still insist upon hiding behind a false name, for even amongst the outdoor staff I've found no trace of a Rey or Raymond of any sort. It is I who should wish to inquire more about you, the trickster who is teasing me and sneaking around my home._

_ Benjamin J. Solo _

* * *

Well, that was one mystery solved, though Rey had already _ assumed _ the initials were for Benjamin J. Solo. She still wasn’t sure what to make of the rest of it—that he had retrieved the pen but had not taken ( _ taken back? _) the compass, despite sitting in plain sight so nearby...it was confusing, to say the least.

Her letter writer spoke...well, _ wrote, _ as if he was not only Benjamin Solo—a Solo that had lived a hundred and fifty years before—but as if the rest of the entire household were active as well. Whoever was pulling her leg had really put effort into it.

_ That, or..._

_ If ghosts can pick up pens and write letters, then surely they can pick up a compass sitting right in front of them, _Rey mused, before vehemently shaking her head.

* * *

Rey probably saved more than was necessary to take with her on her first trip to meet her professor at the museum. Apart from heading the history department at Chandrila University, Professor Amilyn Holdo was a member of the historical society that operated the museum. Naturally, her teaching duties kept her too busy to be involved in the day-to-day, but she facilitated some things, including new acquisitions.

While Holdo appreciated the letters and photographs that Rey had unearthed, some of the other objects garnered a bit more of a mixed reaction. The older woman’s eyes lit up over a music box that Rey had found haphazardly tossed into a box of old toys—apparently, it had been mentioned as a gift in a letter that the museum had in their archives—but the flour and sugar tins were a swing and a miss—what Rey had assumed to be 19th century antiques were merely battered reproductions from a country home trend that had arisen in the 1980s. 

“Hopefully I’ll have better luck next time,” Rey said, in a slightly apologetic tone as she glanced at the difference in size between the small pile of items Holdo was going to keep for the museum and the filled crate she was going to have to take back to Luke. “I guess I overestimated the worth of some of it.”

Apart from missing the signs with a few reproductions, there had also been some items too close to what the museum already had in its collection to warrant the additions. On those at least, Rey supposed, her eye and her instinct hadn’t failed her, they were just superfluous. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Professor Holdo replied with a kind smile. “It’s _ always _ better to err on the side of caution in matters like these. I’ve been out to the house; I’ve been good friends with Luke’s sister since we were children. I _ know _ how big of a project you have ahead of you. And I don’t recommend simply _ trashing _ the rest of this either. Other museums may be interested, or at the very least, collectors.”

On her way out of the museum, and none too happy about lugging so much back to Luke’s in the summer heat before catching yet another bus home, Rey nearly collided with Kylo Ren, who was on his way in. This did nothing to improve her mood.

Kylo, too, was a student at Chandrila University, though a recent transfer, and an Economics major, so their paths didn’t have much occasion to cross. They had met a handful of times during the spring, when he was working as a tutor in the math lab and Rey had gone in for assistance. Despite his quiet, almost standoffish demeanor and blunt manner of speaking, Kylo was a good tutor—thorough, and at times even funny, using jokes to explain difficult concepts.

Rey had a hard time reconciling the helpful student she had first met at school with the cold, practically hostile man she’d encountered at the museum at the beginning of summer. She’d been meeting with Amilyn to discuss the project—the museum’s expansion of the Founder’s History exhibit, which fueled the desire to acquire more Skywalker memorabilia—when Kylo had shown up. Not realizing they already knew each other, Professor Holdo had tried to introduce them before he had interrupted with a terse greeting and irritated, even condescending, glare.

Kylo seemed to be working on the project as well, but reluctantly so, showing up at the museum from time to time with all the enthusiasm of a patient heading to the dentist for a double root canal, and Rey couldn’t help but wonder how or _ why _he’d become involved.

_Maybe it’s some court-appointed volunteer community service work,_ _or a credit for a class, _she thought_, _watching annoyance cross his face as he struggled to right the stack of folders in his arms.

As she had the first time, Rey still found herself struck by his intensity, almost stunned by the startling depth of his dark eyes, the way his posture and demeanor made his already hulking frame seem even larger. It was distracting enough that she hadn't zeroed in on the details the first time they’d met—the surprisingly full and pouty lips or the constellation of moles etched across his skin which she’d begun to notice on her repeat visits to the tutoring lab.

Of course, Kylo’s more recent penchant for scowls and snide comments overshadowed any beauty she might have otherwise discovered in his features.

“Watch where you’re going, Scavenger,” he muttered, starting to step past her.

“Excuse me?” she replied, shocked by the blatant rudeness of his tone. So maybe they weren’t _ friends_; she had only been a student making use of the tutoring center, but he hadn’t behaved this way on campus.

“It’s what you are, isn’t it?” Kylo nodded towards her crate. “Digging around Luke’s dump for something _ valuable? _” He spoke the last word with such disdain, as if he truly didn’t consider any of it important or useful. Tucking his own cargo under one arm he pulled out a moth-eaten bonnet, trimmed with brittle lace, from her load and dangled it mockingly from one large finger. “Glad you rescued this,” he said sarcastically.

“Be careful!” she admonished, even if he _ was _ a little bit right about the worth—or lack thereof—of the bonnet. “Don’t be so cavalier and rough with priceless artifacts!”

“Those _ priceless artifacts _have been stuffed into an attic for years, not climate controlled, not dust free. I think they'll survive my rough handling,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Well regardless of what you think, it’s up to the historical society and the museum to decide what’s important to the project,” Rey retorted.

“Right. The project. Another tomb, since no one around here can get over the worship of dead people who happened to be rich at the right time. I’m sure it will be thrilling.”

“Well, who asked you anyway?”

He actually scoffed then. “Listen, I have more of a right to this junk than you do.”

And with that, he was gone again, brushing past her to escape through the doorway in a confusing cloud of irritation.

* * *

_ Benjamin,_

_I can clarify one thing for you right away. My name isn’t short for Raymond, or for anything, for that matter. But I'm really not lying to you. Rey is my name_—_I know it's not common for a woman_ _but it's mine_ _and it’s the only thing that my parents gave to me._

_ I’m a student. I study history. I don't work for your household and this is why you won't find me among your staff. I suppose that makes you suspicious of me, but please trust me. I only want to learn._

_ I haven't lived in Chandrila for very long but, yes, I began to hear about the Skywalker, and then the Solo, family not long after I moved here. As you mentioned, your family and its role in shaping this town are well known. I like learning about your family—it’s a fascinating legacy._

_ But to know names and dates—marriages, births, deaths—is only one piece of the puzzle. That is why I asked you to tell me more about who YOU are._

_ Awaiting your response,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Rey,_

_ While I remain unsettled at your elusive presence, I cannot deny that your letters have certainly added a bit of liveliness and intrigue to my daily life, which I must say can be rather mundane. Other young men of my age are free to explore westward or travel abroad while I am expected to follow my father into the family business, and my days are occupied by an apprenticeship I would have never chosen for myself._

_ With each letter, you only perplex me more and more. By all regards I should take my concerns to my family, however I find myself anticipating these letters instead. You answer me in words that are simple and direct enough, yet they confuse me. You insist you are not part of the household staff, and yet we have entertained no visitors of late. You have not returned my compass, and yet against all reason I refrain from exposing you. This puzzle is one I am eager to solve._

_ If you wish to know something about me, I will tell you that I would not have chosen to be a merchant. Had I been given a choice, I would pursue music as a composer, though my father regards this as a frivolous hobby and prefers I avoid it. In truth, I have never wanted for much, and am indeed thankful for the luxuries I have known. But I long for a certain freedom that eludes me._

_ And perhaps now you will tell me something more about yourself? How is it that you hide yourself so thoroughly?_

_ Benjamin J Solo _

* * *

Sifting through the pieces of lives long gone was still completely foreign to Rey, to see so much _ stuff _ all belonging to one family. Baptismal and marriage records, paintings and photographs, jewelry and clothing, trinkets and tools, old books and long dried inkwells. Each item a little puzzle piece in the picture that was the Skywalker family portrait.

She found her mind wandering from time to time, imagining what it might have been like to be part of such a family, to have meaning and legacy attached to her name, contrasting starkly with her own background: a document relinquishing parental rights, a file folder tracking her progression through the state foster care system up, right up until her 18th birthday. And the cheap necklace her mother had left with her when she’d abandoned her; its chain had been tarnished with paint flaking off the fake pearls for as long as she could recall.

And for each truly wonderful find, such as a childhood photograph of Rian Skywalker, well preserved and without an ounce of water damage, there were also splintered chairs, broken beyond repair and piles of illegible scraps of paper to haul to the dumpster Luke had rented and placed in the driveway.

As a few more weeks passed by, however, she settled more and more into a rhythm. Each time she met with Holdo to bring donations to the museum, the piles of rejects grew smaller, her eye and intuition about what would best suit the museum grew sharper. She also helped Luke to catalog and organize what the museum didn’t want that he might be able to sell to other collectors.

By far the brightest spot of her days was reading Benjamin’s letters. The days that she found a new letter, the magic and mystery of the whole experience filled her with excitement. At first it was just the novelty, if not confusion, of this strange new correspondence. As time passed, however, she found it wasn’t just the thrill of a secret and possibly supernatural penpal; she really enjoyed conversing with _ him _. 

They continued to trade words and Benjamin’s snobbish tone softened, became more companionable, even playful sometimes, when he relayed anecdotes and observations, or comforting when she vented her pent up frustrations about her financial anxieties or school or even Kylo Ren. She had to be vague, of course, but even so, his responses _ meant _something to her and she found herself regarding him as a friend. 

She still didn’t quite _ understand _ what was going on, although she had formulated new guesses. Each day she became more convinced he wasn’t a ghost _ per se _, despite having lived and died a century before. Though it felt silly to arm her theory with children’s books, Rey had begun to consider the desk as some sort of Narnia-like portal, not to another world, but to another time. A time when Benjamin Solo had sat at the same desk, in the same house, under the same window, hiding his secrets in a hidden drawer.

Of course, Rey hadn’t voiced her theory to anyone, even Benjamin. Yet even as the days slipped by and their correspondence grew ever friendlier, he always repeated, in some way or another, his question of who she was and why they had never crossed paths in all this time. Rey was increasingly running out of ways to answer without frightening him or making her sound delusional.

* * *

_ Dear Benjamin,_

_ I’m not in the house at the same time that you are. That is the simplest way to explain it. I wish I could tell you something more concrete, but you might think I’m crazy if I tried. A part of me doubts my OWN sanity. But this much is true: we are ships passing in the night._

_ It’s funny when I think about it. How we walk the same halls, enter the same rooms, and yet we’ll never meet. I look out the window above this very desk, wondering what you see, compared to what I see? Looking out the same window with different eyes, on a different world._

_ I like the view overlooking the city—to know how it began, how much it has grown. It was here before both me and you and will still be here after us; isn’t there comfort in that? I’ve never really belonged anywhere, but sometimes I imagine what it’s like to belong here._

_ Sorry if that all sounds like nonsense. Maybe later I can give you a more satisfying answer._

_ Until next time,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ Your letter brought a smile to my face after a rather trying day, so much so in fact, that I found myself rereading it to begin my morning today. You find optimism in the smallest things, in the frustrating things that would nag at me until they consume my every moment. I confess I do not generally embody a cheery outlook and demeanor as you do._

_ My mother has made note of my mood being rather more positive in recent days and while I, of course, realize what has borne this recent change in my own person, I felt briefly sad that I could not make my acquaintance with you known to her. I am no closer to understanding the riddle that is your correspondence, that is _ you _ yourself and, while some days your words are enough to distract me, I fervently wish to know you, truly. I carry your words with me in my heart; I do so wish I could walk by your side, your hand, rather than your letter, in my own. I know you said we could never meet, might I implore you to reconsider?_

_ Forgive me if I am being too forward._

_ Yours,_

_ Benjamin _

* * *

“Luke said I’d find you up here,” a low voice grumbled, interrupting her chaotic thoughts as the door swung open.

Kylo Ren. She’d seen him only once since their last run-in at the museum, when she’d crossed paths with him at the grocery store. Aside from a short exchange of ‘excuse me’s as they’d stepped around each other, they hadn’t interacted. He hadn’t been at the museum during her latest meeting with Holdo, either.

“Why?” Rey asked, guiltily jumping up from her place at Benjamin’s desk. “What are you doing here?” The idea of Kylo Ren entering into her mystical little nook, where she spoke with a gentleman from the past, was a situation that just did not compute.

He stared openly at her, almost offended, before he recovered and retorted with a mirthless chuckle. “Listen, _sweetheart_, I told you before. I’m the one who belongs here.”

“I don’t know who you think you are—” Rey began, feeling the edgy rise of irritation at being so casually dismissed.

“Who _ I _ am?” Kylo repeated, incredulously. “You have a job right now because of _ my _ mother and uncle. The exhibit is happening because they finally decided to clean out old storage.”

Confusion must have been written across Rey’s face because she noticed Kylo’s eyes soften, just a touch.

“You really don’t know, do you?” His gaze held hers as she shook her head and he continued. “Figures. The first person to see me and not just see my family name is still just as obsessed with the past, with legacy, as everyone else is.” He laughed again, a heavy and joyless sound. “When you came into the math lab and didn’t bug me about my family it was only because you didn’t _ know _,” he muttered, sounding disappointed.

It was beginning to dawn on Rey, what he was saying. She’d always dwelled so much on Kylo’s scowl, she had ignored certain features she might have otherwise realized were familiar. “You mean, you’re…?” She let her words trail off.

“Yeah, I’m a _ Skywalker_. My father died last year and ever since then my mother has been going through this whole purging phase. She finally threw away crap like my old participation ribbons from track day in elementary school and cookbooks she’s never touched. And when she realized just how much old Skywalker family stuff we still had in our possession, she and Uncle Luke decided it was time to let go.” Kylo finished his explanation with a shrug. “Most of their old junk is here, but she had some portraits and things at her house, too.”

_ His mother. That would be Senator Organa, then._

Rey felt her face flush. She felt a tiny bit embarrassed to have insulted Kylo, yet at the same time, she knew he deserved it. He certainly hadn’t been very friendly to her.

“I didn’t realize,” Rey said softly, not quite apologizing for her behavior. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kylo nodded tersely. “I should have said something sooner. I just assumed you’d know who I was, most people around here do.”

In a different tone, it might have sounded vain or haughty. But Rey could recognize that he was in fact just speaking the truth—his family was well known.

“Well, it’s settled now. Why did you come _ here _ today though?” Rey asked, trying to reign the conversation back into something more professional. Suddenly, seeing him at the museum made sense—he would have been bringing in the senator's donations—but that didn’t explain him showing up at Luke’s out of the blue.

If she wasn’t mistaken, Rey thought she saw a slight blush creep into his cheeks, though in the dim room, she couldn’t be sure.

“A favor for my mom, she had something she wanted me to drop off with Luke. Since I was here anyway, I figured I’d see what junk you’d unearthed today,” Kylo said, with all his typical snark, though it sounded a little less sharp today.

Rey rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “Some things are worth preserving.”

“And some things should just fade away,” he retorted. “Why should you care so much about the property deeds and cufflink collections of some old corpse? It’s not like you have a place in this story.”

He said it so casually, not even really _ meanly.... _ but why did the comment hurt so much?

_ Because it’s true, _ something inside of her whispered harshly. It _ wasn’t _ her story. But did that matter? Museums existed because people enjoyed a peek into history, not just their own. Was there anything so wrong with her helping to build that up? Unable to think of a snarky reply, Rey shrugged.

Kylo watched her face curiously. “Maybe that’s exactly it. I asked Luke about you; he didn’t have much to say. Just that you’re not from around here.” He tilted his head as if considering. “You, some random college student from nowhere. You don’t have your own story, so you're obsessed with ours.”

It was a statement, not a question, and his tone was even, observational—a tad curious, but not cruel. Yet the truth of it hit hard.

“I have a lot of work to do,” Rey said, turning her back on him, not wanting to let him see the hurt in her eyes. “You should probably go.”

Kylo sighed, probably rolling his eyes. Facing away from him, she could only guess. She dug into a random box and busied herself as she waited until she heard the creak of the door and the sound of his footsteps fading as he left.

Shaken by Kylo's hurtful accusations, Rey reached to caress Ben's letter where she’d tucked it in her pocket, wishing she could hold his hand instead of a scrap of paper. But it would have to do.

* * *

_ Dear Benjamin,_

_ Your words stay with me too. I’ve felt alone all my life—yet I’m not alone with your letter in my pocket. It’s a constant reminder of the brightest part of my day.   
_

_ Whenever someone is rude or mean, or even just when I’m reminded of the family and home that I don’t have, I reach into my pocket and feel your most recent letter there and it comforts me, even if I can’t take the time to reread it. It’s like you’re here with me.  
_

_You aren’t being overly forward at all. I wish you were here with me, too._ _The truth is, it isn’t actually my choice—it’s out of my hands._

_ I figured out the truth awhile ago, but I’ve been scared to say it. At first, I was just embarrassed _ _ — _ _ I didn’t want to look silly, or have you think that I’m delusional or playing some elaborate trick. More recently, I’ve realized that I’m afraid you’ll stop writing to me. I don’t want to lose these letters, this connection._

_ Ben, I know it sounds impossible; I know it’s not going to make any sense. I once told you that we are not in the house at the same time. That was true. But it isn’t the whole truth. I left details out on purpose, hoping you’d think I’d come in to hide my notes when you were out or something. As far-fetched as it sounds, we really are in the house at truly, truly different times. I’m not entirely sure how to explain it._

_ The year is 2019 here. I work in your house, but not YOUR household. I can’t say too much, but I’m helping a man—someone from your family—clean and sort through old belongings. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but the drawer in your desk connects the past to the present or, I guess in your case, the present to the future. If I could, I’d crawl right into the drawer and find you. But I can't. I’m here and you’re there. Or then._

_ Now I get to ask you to be patient with me. I really hope I haven’t scared you away and that you’ll still write to me. Even if you think I’m crazy or imagining things, maybe you’ll put up with me anyway?_

_ Yours, in any year,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ I have to admit, reading your last letter has me conflicted. I tell myself you must be lying, playing some trick on me. Or perhaps trying to dissuade my interest with a falsehood. What other explanation could there be for such an outlandish tale?_

_ And yet, even before I knew you as I do know, you were never cruel. I cannot reconcile such behavior with the woman I know you to be and I am thus left with only one possibility, that you speak the truth. I cannot fathom it, and yet I cannot fathom any alternative. If anything, it seems to grant explanation as to why your letters have always been a little peculiar. It seems the stuff of fairy stories or childish games but I would eagerly listen to you spin such yarns._

_ I know my parents would think me a childish fool at best, or that I've taken leave of my senses, at worst. My peers would react much the same, with the exception of perhaps Cousin Poe, who would make a game of the notion._

_ My heart wars with my head, but I trust you. As mad as it sounds, I trust you._

_ Yours,_

_ Ben _

* * *

Days later, Kylo’s insult still lingered with Rey, try as she might to forget it. Perhaps if he had been openly cruel, instead of almost curious about her interest in the Skywalker family, it would have been easier to blow him off.

Kylo was wrong. It wasn't petty; it wasn't a pathetic obsession to be interested in history, in historic families. The town of Chandrila wouldn't be what it was today if it weren't for the Skywalkers, maybe wouldn't exist at all if they hadn't brought wealth and industry to what had once been a failed copper mining town.

It was about roots, knowing where one came from, knowing that even in death a part of you could live on, still have _ meaning. _Perhaps that was what nagged at her. Her own lack of roots.

Kylo had a family, and a prestigious one at that. A place that could always be called home and a history that _ meant _ something. He would never understand what it was like to wonder who you were, to feel desperate to belong. 

Anyway, Benjamin valued her. Even if she was a nobody from nowhere, he believed in her, even when she told tales about portals through time.

Her mind was so distracted that she almost overlooked the photo at first. The album she had been flipping through was a mess, with brittle pages breaking and photos falling loose.

The album itself wasn’t antique—1950s, if she had to guess—but someone a couple of generations back had apparently seen fit to compile a collection of old family pictures into a scrapbook. Rey cringed at the residue of cheap paste adhered to the back of some of the loose photographs and the warped, faded condition of others. Of course, whoever had been responsible for this years ago wasn’t thinking about the museum that would eventually want to display the items, but had probably cheerfully glued the array of photos into the book for the simple pleasure of sharing with family.

Several decades were represented. Only a few were early daguerreotypes, from the days when photography was young and having pictures taken was an infrequent affair, and many had been donated to the museum long before. Images changed as the years passed, from black and white to the slightly unnatural tint of early color. But sorting them would take a long time, given the disintegrating state of the album and the way loose pages and photos had been tucked back in haphazardly.

One of the photographs was of Skywalker House itself, framed by smaller trees than the ones that flanked it now. Rey wondered idly if it was close to the view Benjamin had each day as he ventured to and from his home.

She smiled at a photo of a little girl in a red coat, hood up and strings tied tight under her grinning face; she was leaning over to hug a brown and white dog nearly as tall as she was, and the faded, loopy script on the backside read _ “Kayla and Chewie, Lake Varykino, 1929”._

The next photograph she lifted startled her. The portrait was the hazy sepia brown of a daguerreotype, but it was the solemn face staring back at her that was a surprise. The chin was a little broader, and the ears were a little smaller, there were fewer moles scattered across the cheeks and the lips looked somewhat thinner. But the eyes, dark, soulful, and sad—she had looked into those eyes not so long ago.

“Talk about a family resemblance,” Rey muttered to herself as she stared at the photograph in front of her. If she’d seen it before, she would have known in an instant that Kylo was a Skywalker.

Even now she wondered how she’d missed it. She _ had _ seen his features, individually, in a dozen different paintings and pictures, but somehow until she saw so _ many _of them arranged together in one face, she hadn’t put the pieces together.

When she turned the picture over, to see if it had been labeled, Rey received her second shock in as many minutes. The ink was somewhat faded, but there was no mistaking the name etched out:

> _ ‘Benjamin Jacen Solo, 1875’ _

Rey wasn’t sure how to process the discovery. For the first time, she was glimpsing the man she’d been writing to—the companion, even dare she say it, _ crush _—who brought her comfort, whose words and affection brightened her days. Whenever she thought of her pen pal, she usually imagined only bits and pieces of him—a firm hand with pristine shirt cuff poised over a letter, fountain pen in hand. Black boots, shiny and new, crunching gravel beneath them as he strolled the grounds. Vague impressions of period garb and faces from classic art.

Now, as she imagined Benjamin reading her letter, she couldn't help but picture Kylo’s brow furrowing as he contemplated the meaning of her words, or a smile lighting up his face. _ Her _ Benjamin penned sweet words to her, but Rey was now envisioning the one who had hurt her with his callous remarks. 

For once, she found herself looking forward to another awkward, nearly silent, lunch at Luke’s kitchen table. She needed some time to process the confusion as juxtaposing images of Kylo’s face and Ben’s letters bounced and bumped around in her mind.

* * *

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I can't tell you how much your trust means to me. I know I'm asking a lot of you._

_ Did you know that just yesterday I found a photograph of you? It was surreal, to see the face of the person I've been talking to for so long for the first time._

_ I wonder if the photo has even been taken yet. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it… I think I'll need to be careful, now that I've told you the truth, that I don't say too much about things that haven't happened yet._

_ I wish it didn't need to be this way. I wish I could tell you everything. As it is, as silly as it sounds, sometimes I feel like you are my best friend._

_ Relieved, _

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ You are my closest confidant as well. Had I known from the start that we were so completely, definitively separated not by status as I once believed, but by the very reality of the worlds we live in, I might have proclaimed that my openness with you, my tendency to be frank and honest _ — _ which I am admittedly not with my own peers _ — _ was due to the safety of speaking with someone who was unable to reveal my secrets._

_ But it would have been a lie all the same. I speak freely with you because I care about you, and you understand me in a way that no one I have known ever has. These letters, this small but important part of my day…_

_ By all rights, I understand that I should be pleased with my station in life. I have status, money, prospects. Yet companionship is what I truly crave. When I read your words, I feel a little less alone in the world. _

_I am at a slight disadvantage here. For you have seen my face but I have not had the pleasure of looking upon your own. A poor substitute for being able to meet you for myself, but could I implore you to show me a photograph of yourself, if you have one?_

_ Your companion, _

_ Ben _

_ * _

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I know that feeling of loneliness, even in a crowd. There have always been people around me—caretakers, classmates, even friends. But never family, or even people I trusted to stick around for long. You're not alone. We may be years apart, but somehow, you are close to me._

_ As for a photograph… I probably shouldn’t. The picture falling into the wrong hands could be bad. I’m sure no one could guess the truth—it still seems made up even to me—but it still feels risky. I’ll have to think about it._

_ It’s time for me to let you have your compass back, though. Can I tell you a secret? I held on to it longer than I should have because I was afraid that you would stop writing to me once I returned it. I held it like a ransom for your letters, which I realize sounds a bit desperate. I should have given it back long ago and trusted in your friendship._

_ Yours,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ My Dear Rey,_

_ I must confess my own secret—I nearly forgot about the compass weeks ago. Your letters quickly became the primary occupation of my thoughts and interest, more important than a pithy trinket._

_ I do hope you will trust me with your photograph. If you share it with me, I promise I shall keep it safe and hidden, so that no one happens upon it. I will not be reckless, nor would I ever betray your trust. If you will not, however, I will graciously accept your decision. In the end, while I am genuinely curious, I know it doesn’t truly matter. Your heart, which holds such a high place in my own, is your true beauty._

_ Yours,_

_ Ben _

* * *

When Rey ran into Kylo at the bus stop on her way home from Luke's one evening she was surprised enough, but to find out that he showed up with the express purpose of talking to her was downright shocking.

“I wanted to apologize.” Even with hunched shoulders and hands jammed into his pockets, curling in on himself, Kylo’s frame loomed large. That Rey was sitting on the bus stop bench, neck craned and head tilted to look up at him, only helped to accentuate his size. “What I said about you not belonging here? I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

He glanced down at Rey then resumed his pacing in front of her on the sidewalk, one hand reaching up to nervously run through his already tousled locks. She wondered how many times he had done that as he waited for her to come out of the building.

“You were,” Rey said with a short nod. “But I guess I could have been a bit more polite, too. And I don’t _ really _know how it feels, but I guess I can see how it could be frustrating to have people see your family and not you.” Rey couldn't help but think of Ben, more than a century before, wanting to be himself but being expected to be a Skywalker above all else.

Kylo nodded, finally ceasing his nervous pacing and dropping to the bench next to her. “My uncle came to my mother's house for dinner this weekend. He told me that you grew up in foster care.” He probably noticed her tensing up at the words because he rushed to continue, “He wasn’t _ gossiping _ or anything, didn’t say much. He was just trying to give me a little perspective, I think.”

He looked down at his lap and, though Rey couldn’t see his face as it was shielded by his hair falling forward, the tips of his ears peeking out from between dark locks, were flushed pink. “I think he overheard our..._ conversation _.”

“Oh,” Rey muttered stiffly. He was apologizing because he felt sorry for the _ poor little orphan girl _, was that it? “Well, I don’t need your pity if that’s what this is about.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Kylo exhaled a sigh, a frustrated sound. “I don’t mean to imply… _ shit _. I don’t really know what I’m trying to get at. I’m just saying I didn’t mean to insult you.”

Despite herself, Rey looked over at Kylo with a half smile quirked on her lips. _ That _ wasn’t exactly true, she knew.

“Well, I didn’t mean to be _ quite _ so cruel.” Kylo amended sheepishly.

“Apology accepted,” Rey finally said, putting him out of his misery.

Kylo sighed again, from relief this time. “Since I’m here anyway, do you want a ride?”

His offer sounded appealing—anything to avoid having to take one bus downtown, then transfer to another to get to her apartment, even if she wasn’t quite eager for the awkward silence the car ride was sure to hold.

“Why not?” she said with a shrug.

* * *

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I have asked myself a thousand times if this is the right thing to do, but it’s only fair since I have a picture of you. And maybe I was a little flattered that you asked, too. Do keep it hidden though; I really think that’s best._

_ Yours,_

_ Rey _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ It means the world to me that you trust me to keep your photograph safe and secure. I will treasure it always. You are more beautiful than I could have imagined. Your smile is like that of sunshine, so fitting given your name._

_ * _

_ Dear Ben,_

_ Your compliments had me blushing all day. I won’t pretend to be modest—I did send a picture I was fairly pleased with, but it means a lot coming from you. I guess we’re even now? _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ The daisies in the garden are in full bloom. I see them and think of you; they are so vibrant, it is no wonder that they are your favorite flower. It’s almost as though I’ve seen them for the first time. I couldn’t resist the desire to pluck one for you... I wonder if it will reach you safely?_

_ I am curious to learn more about the limits and abilities of our portal as well. I check the drawer frequently throughout the day, but I only ever find new letters from you in the morning. Something must occur by night then, do you suppose? I am curious as to whether we can pinpoint the exact moment when passage is possible? _

_ * _

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. Every little discovery astounds me. How can I be holding a flower picked over a hundred years ago, its petals still soft against my skin? I wonder what the limit—besides size—is, to what can be passed through our strange little portal?_

_ I’ve tried to research situations like ours but can’t find anything but fantasy novels, and even then nothing quite like this! I think I have your desk in the same spot that you do, which must be part of it. I’ve wondered if it occurs at a certain time of night._

_ I don’t know how we could test it though. I work during the day, I’m not sure if I could figure out a way to be here at night. _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ I would certainly be willing to stay up all night if you think you can be here? My nanny told me stories of witches when I was a boy. Midnight was the witching hour, she would say. However, I do suspect they were mostly made up tales meant to encourage me to stay in my bed and go to sleep._

_ If we could manage to be here at the same time, do you suppose something truly alive could pass through? I wonder if the drawer must be closed? Or do you suppose I might be able to hold your hand? _

*

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I know that I said it was going to be impossible, but I think we might have a chance! To try to see if we can reach through the portal. Tomorrow or, later today, I guess, by the time you read this, I’ll be staying at the house late. I don’t know if this will work, but if it’s our only chance to try, I don’t want to miss it._

_ Hopeful,_

_ Rey _

* * *

It had felt like fate when, out of the blue one Thursday morning, Luke had greeted Rey by dangling a key in front of her when she knocked on the front door.

“I’m going out of town tomorrow,” he’d said without preamble. “I’ll be back before Monday, but I assume I can trust you to lock up when you leave tomorrow afternoon?”

Rey had swallowed her guilt as she pocketed the key, the gears in her mind already turning as she considered staying late. She wasn’t particularly productive that day or the next as she glanced at the clock over and over, eagerly awaiting Luke’s departure on Friday morning. When the day arrived, she endured hours of waiting for the sun to set.

Darkness fell, after what seemed like an eternity, and Rey planted herself at Benjamin's desk, opening and closing the drawer, wondering exactly how this attempt would play out.

For the first few hours, nothing seemed to happen. Rey wondered if their efforts were futile—something she’d feared from the idea’s conception—if the drawer had to be firmly closed. Or maybe Benjamin had been away, hadn't had a chance to read her latest letter. Or worse, if the entire summer, all the notes, had been in her imagination.

Only the folded letters from Benjamin, hidden carefully in a box in her home, convinced her otherwise.

As midnight neared, she tried new ways of trying to reach through the drawer in desperation, to cross this perplexing magical portal and take hold of the past.

Rey reached into the compartment with one hand while with the other she pressed the hinged lid down, closing the drawer as best as she was able with her arm in the way.

“Please,” she muttered in a broken whisper, not sure to which god or star she was begging.

Her fingers brushed against the paper and pens, the smooth wood of the drawer, grasping at nothing, until…

The sudden sensation of soft flesh that wasn't her own brushing against her hand drew a shaky gasp from her mouth, set her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Frantically, Rey strained, curling her fingertips and gripping Benjamin’s with her own for the briefest of moments before his hand was gone again. Now empty, with nothing to hold onto, Rey’s hand clenched around air, balling into a fist.

“Benjamin?” she asked, her voice loud in the dark, quiet room. But though she swept her hand around in the compartment, feeling deep into each corner, tracing every imperfection in the grain of the wood, it was met by nothing more than the paper and pen that always resided there.

The moment was gone.

After ten minutes or more had passed, Rey withdrew her hand and relaxed back into her chair, staring at her palm. Had it happened at all or had she dreamt it? Reaching up to her face, Rey wiped away the tears that had crept from the corners of her eyes, unbidden. She wasn’t quite sure if she was crying from happiness that it had worked, sadness at the abrupt loss of touch, or just because she was overwhelmed by all of it.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the empty room before she picked herself up and headed home, feeling more alone than ever.

* * *

_ Dear Rey,_

_ I can barely steady my hand to write this letter. I still question myself, wonder if I fell asleep as I waited for you, and dreamt it all. My fingertips still burn with the memory of your touch. Or perhaps _ that _ sensation is in my head. Assure me that I'm not dreaming. _

_ * _

_ Dear Ben_

_ If you were dreaming, then so was I. I can hardly believe it myself. If I live a thousand years, I'll never forget that moment. I'm greedy though. I wish I could crawl right through and hold all of you, not just grasp your fingers. _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ It may be foolhardy to say this, knowing as I do the impracticality of our situation, yet I feel compelled. I desire to dedicate myself to you. I will wait for you, for as long as I must._

_ If our hands can meet, there surely must be a way to traverse this distance between us somehow? _

_ * _

_ Dear Ben,_

_ I nearly cried reading your letter. I can’t ask that of you, though you can't know how much it meant to me to read those words. I don't know why our portal works, but it is small. Too small for me, or for our dreams. _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ I regret that I will be traveling soon. My father has business that takes him to Coruscant, and my mother wishes for us to attend and make some social calls there. She longs for the bustle of the East sometimes. I tried to argue my position of monitoring our business affairs here in my father's absence but she will have none of it and insists that I escort her on this trip._

_ But I will keep your photograph and your memory with me and will write again as soon as I return. _

* * *

A few days later, Kylo picked Rey up at the bus stop again, and then the next day at the foot of Luke’s driveway, until it became a regular occurrence. The car trips evolved from somewhat awkward and quiet, to conversational, if still somewhat stilted.

“Why are you doing this?” Rey asked one day, darting through an afternoon rainstorm to leap into Kylo's comfortable, dry car.

“It's pouring. You prefer to take the bus?” he replied after a beat.

Rey rolled her eyes. She knew Kylo hadn't bothered with a summer job; he came from money and had the luxury of taking off for a couple of months. But that didn't explain why he chose to spend his free time running shuttle duty for her.

“It's not always raining,” she pointed out. “In fact, it hardly ever does.”

Kylo shrugged and turned his gaze away from the road for a moment. “Even though you're annoyingly fixated on my family, you seem to forget _ I'm _one of them. It's… nice.”

Rey smirked. “I'm not sure how I didn't see it before honestly. You and your Uncle aren't so different. He also thinks I’m too hung up on the past. You and he went to the same school of conversation, too.”

“Well, _ now _I’m offended.” But there was no real malice in Kylo’s voice and Rey chuckled.

She stared out at the grey skies for a moment as the air grew quiet between them again.

“That’s why you made up a fake name isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice. To Rey, the idea of casting off one’s family name was absurd if someone was lucky enough to actually have a family.

“What’s that?” Kylo answered, distracted as he squinted through the heavy rain.

“_Ren _ is a fake surname, isn’t it?” Rey said, louder this time. “I’ve never come across it either visiting the museum or in any of the records or photo albums I’ve seen while working for Luke. You made it up.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kylo mumbled, keeping his face angled forward, but as Rey watched his profile, a slight pink blush crept into his cheeks and the tips of his ears peeking through his hair. “I started calling myself Kylo Ren in high school. I wanted a fresh start.”

“Kind of hard in a city this size, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I went to college in California, at first. But when my father died, I came back to help my mom.”

“Good for you,” Rey said with a nod, something inside of her softening. “Why ‘_ Ren’ _ though?”

Kylo barked out a short laugh. “It was a persona I came up with for an online game I used to play—_ ‘The Knights of Ren.’ _ Kylo Ren was my character. And I guess I just decided to stick with it.”

“So it wasn’t just _ Organa _ that you dropped? _ Kylo _ isn’t your given name, either?”

“Nope.” He heaved a sigh. “Benjamin Solo Organa is my full, legal name.”

“You’re kidding!” Rey wondered if she should laugh or cry. What were the odds?

“Grandma Breha was the last Solo and when she married my grandfather, the name was gone. Mom decided to resurrect it by naming me after the first Solo born in our family.” Kylo smiled wryly. “I’m only lucky my mother didn’t insist on adding _ Skywalker _ too, so I could have _ four _ last names on my social security card.”

“It’s funny. I’ve uncovered a lot about Benjamin Solo recently,” Rey began, feeling her cheeks warm as a blush spread across her own face, not that Kylo would ever guess that she’d been _ flirting_, in a manner of speaking, with the very man he was named after. “I've come across some photos of him, too. You actually look kind of like him.”

Kylo grimaced. “So I’ve been told. It almost makes it worse, people comparing me to someone who has been dead for a hundred years, rather than just letting the past die and moving on.”

Rey flinched, although she knew he was merely speaking freely, his words weren’t aimed at hurting her.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” he hastened, noticing the change in Rey’s posture.

“Don’t worry,” Rey said and found that she meant it. She still thought Kylo was wrong about casting _ everything _ in the past away—it did mean something—but maybe he was right about clinging too hard, as well.

The thought remained with her as she hurried from Kylo’s car and into her apartment building. Kylo’s perspective was starkly at odds with Benjamin’s—the Benjamin of the 19th century at least.

His letter was still in her pocket, proclaiming himself to remain faithful to her—a promise she knew was fruitless. She’d read the family registry in the Skywalker bible and knew how it would truly end. She knew when he would marry, and to whom—a girl from Coruscant who could he be meeting on the very trip he’d told Rey about. She’d read the names of the children they would bear, seen photos of them, had just ridden in the car with one of their descendants.

And in spite of all that, she had spent the summer holding on to a dream like a child holding fast to their belief in fairytales. It couldn’t last. She’d have to let go some time, even if the notion brought pinpricks of tears to the back of her eyes.

She knew what she had too, but she didn’t know if she was strong enough to do it.

* * *

_ Dear Ben,_

_ It’s so hard sometimes, knowing things that you don’t, that I can never tell you. I am struggling to keep it to myself, to not disrupt the past, even if it’s the future from your point of view._

_ I think that things will change when you return from Coruscant. Don't try to fight it. It will be alright. I hope. _

_ * _

_ Dear Rey,_

_ Your words haunted me all through our trip. I do not know what troubles you. Our visit to the city was not so unlike others that I have been compelled to make._

_ As I will follow in his footsteps, I attended business meetings along with my father. Of course, my mother also insisted I make some social visits with her. She does frequently voice her worry about my finding a suitable wife in the country. Of course, she does not know that my heart already belongs to you. Is that what you feared? _

_ * _

_ Dear Ben,_

_ You ask me questions I shouldn't answer. I shouldn't send this letter. I should close this drawer and never open it again, even if it breaks my heart and yours._

_ But I'm weak. Forgive me. I had to write to you one last time. I know you will get married and that you'll love your wife. I know you will be happy. I've held onto you for too long. I have to stop being selfish._

_ Ben, I will never forget you. But I need you to forget me. Burn my letters, burn my photograph._

_ Missing you,_

_ Rey _

* * *

What had seemed impossible at the start of summer had somehow come to fruition in the hot, dry days of August. The once-cluttered third level of Skywalker House was clean and organized—many items had found new homes at the museum or sold to collectors that Rey had helped Luke seek out. What _ was _ kept had been neatly boxed and cataloged.

Rey had asked for Kylo’s help with hauling the last few large items to the museum in his truck. Including the desk.

After leaving her last letter, Rey had dragged it out into the hallway, acting on a hunch that the portal would only open when the desk was in the exact spot that Ben had kept it.

She’d walked past it several times, willing herself to not succumb and check the drawer for new letters. She had said her goodbye—she needed to stick to it. Rey had lasted about four days before breaking down and opening the secret compartment.

When she caved and opened the drawer, lifting the hinged lid, her heart had raced. She wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping to find. 

A bare and empty space had greeted her. No pens, no papers, no compass. No letter addressed to her in looping cursive. Either her hunch was correct and the connection had been severed, or Ben had heeded her advice and ceased to reach out to her.

Either one was a good thing—she had to stop meddling with the past. Both options brought a small pang to her heart. It was a good thing that the desk would be going to the museum, away from her reach. Rey thought if she told herself enough times she would eventually believe it.

The ride to the museum with Kylo was nearly silent. Rey couldn’t speak for him but she found herself contemplating how she’d grown to appreciate his company, as brusque and direct as he could sometimes be. He was honest and, if she were truthful, she found it more than a little charming. Especially the contradiction he embodied when he blushed immediately after making some biting comment. Rey was going to miss this.

_ Maybe she’d run into him on campus, _she mused, staring out the window.

When they arrived at the museum, and Kylo turned off the car, as Rey moved to open her door, he finally broke the silence.

“Wait!”

Rey turned towards him expectantly.

Huffing a sigh, Kylo dragged one hand through his hair and dug into his pocket with the other. “I found something in one of the boxes my mother had me bring down the other day. I wanted to ask you about it.”

Rey watched as Kylo thumbed through an oddly familiar, small, leather book. After a moment, it dawned on her that it looked like the small notebook she’d once glimpsed in the secret drawer, though much more worse for the wear. The book had vanished after that first day and Rey hadn’t given it another thought. Ben must have tucked it elsewhere for safekeeping when his hiding place had been compromised.

The book, which Kylo couldn’t have known she would recognize, wasn’t the surprise, however. He found what he was looking for, and pulled a small paper from within its pages.

No, not a piece of paper. A photograph. It was old and worn, discolored with age, but there was no question what it was.

“This is you,” Kylo spoke plainly, as was his style. Again it was not a question but a statement.

Rey nodded shortly. When she’d decided to give Ben her photo, she had ordered the print in black and white, and had chosen a picture of herself that had been taken outdoors, and only from the shoulders up just so that nothing modern would be seen, or cause any question if anyone in Ben’s time found it. She had never expected it to last all these years, however.

“But how? It seems so old.” Kylo ran one finger along a crease where it had once been folded. The once smooth, glossy paper was dull and wrinkled. “And why is it in my great-great-great grandfather's journal?”

Rey tilted her head thoughtfully. Maybe this _ wouldn’t _ be the end of her conversations with Kylo, after all. What would he make of the story she had to tell, the letters she still had at home? Would he believe her, or think she'd lost her mind? Rey was willing to take the chance.

“You know,” she said, with a small smile, “It’s kind of a long story. Maybe after we drop the rest of this stuff off, we should head somewhere to talk?”

Kylo nodded, curiosity in his amber-brown eyes and a hint of a smile playing at his own lips. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for RFFA and I am so happy to be a part of it; it's been an amazing experience. Thank you to @colliderofhadron for the beta, and thank you to the wonderful mods and editors at RFFA! Thank you to BriarLily (thewayofthetrashcompactor) for the gorgeous moodboard! ❤ 
> 
> I realize this isn't quite traditional HEA Reylo but Rey needed to let go of the past a little, and I think things are optimistic for her and Kylo. I made myself emotional writing this - I only hope I brought a few of you on that journey with me.


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